


Like They Do in Germany

by cannibalspicnic



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, How did this end up so fluffy?, Masturbation, Missing Yacht Scenes, Phone Sex, Roman being weird, True Crime Mention, Verbal Humiliation, cannibalism mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21653266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibalspicnic/pseuds/cannibalspicnic
Summary: Roman has some thoughts about cannibalism, and also Gerri. Mostly Gerri.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 35
Kudos: 150





	Like They Do in Germany

Roman remembers the first time he heard about Armin Meiwes and Bernd Brandes. He was 17 and sharing a joint and a bottle of whiskey with Kendall in the back of a limo. He doesn’t remember where they were going or how it came up, but he very specifically recalls Kendall, face flushed from coughing too hard after his last hit, saying, “You gotta take what you can when you can, man. It’s kill or be killed once you get out into the world. People are fucked. Humanity…it’s all fucked anyway. You hear about that guy in Germany? He put up an internet ad to find a guy who wanted to be killed and eaten. We don’t come back from that, man.”

“Did someone answer?” Roman had asked, intrigued.

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s what I’m saying, dog! Fucked! Guy just said, ‘Yeah, being killed and eaten. Sign me up!’ Fucked!” Kendall continued to ramble onto another example of the degradation of society, but Roman tuned the rest out. Generally, when Kendall started calling people ‘dog’, he only had another half hour, at most, of semi-coherency.

For the next week, thoughts of the German cannibal and his willing victim continued to invade his mind. Sometimes it would be a flash in his head, a single glimpse in the neverending stampede of thoughts trampling through his brain. Sometimes, he’d be able to wrangle it in, mull it over for a while. He had to know more, and since he wasn’t going to spend his time studying for finals, he instead did a bit of research on the case.

“Did you know they tried to eat his dick?” Roman asked Kendall a few days later.

“What the fuck?” The look on his face made Roman realize that Kendall had not been part of the conversation he had been having about this in his head.

“The fucking guy…the cannibal. With the online ad. Well not _his_ dick. The guy he killed. Before he died, the cannibal cut off the guy’s dick, and they tried to eat it together.”

Kendall looked a bit ill, but that might just be consequences from the night before. “Jesus.”

“But he burned it.” Roman giggled. “When he tried to cook the dick, it burned.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?” Kendall asked. Back then his face was just starting to show signs of morphing into a dejected basset hound, but it wasn’t quite there yet. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Fuck you.” Roman shrugged and walked away. He kept thinking about it. He felt bad for the guy. Bernd, the victim. Was victim the right word? He was there willingly. He wanted to eat his own dick before he died, and it got ruined. Bernd’s dick burned. And that was his only chance. It wasn’t like he had a backup dick. There was something sad about that to Roman. Missed opportunities.

***

Over the years, he sometimes thought about Armin, the German cannibal and Bernd, the guy who wanted to be eaten. They had fucked first. Before the dick thing. There was something romantic about it all. Consuming someone or being consumed. Becoming a part of someone so they could never leave him. He jerked off a few times while imagining it.

He’s wondered occasionally who he’d want to eat him. Most of the girlfriends he’s had would probably be too concerned with the calories, go for a salad instead. The few men he’s been with barely even noticed he was a person. He’s pretty sure to them, he was just an ejaculating wallet. This would require more intimacy. He doesn’t actually want to die, but that desire, that longing to be close like that to someone remained.

***

Then the rocket explodes, and he’s shipped off to Japan to do damage control with Gerri. Gerri, who stood in front of him at Shiv’s wedding and gave him some of the best news of his life: he wouldn’t be indicted for corporate manslaughter. In that moment, she looked like a goddess to him: beautiful, shimmering, and benevolent. He knows it was pure luck that saved his ass, but he can’t help but feel protected by her. Roman thanks fuck that she’s coming with him to deal with the fallout.

He’s nervous on the way there. Fidgeting and pacing in the private jet, not ready to dive in face first to tongue-fuck humble pie in front of everybody. He sits next to Gerri, who’s working on her laptop and doesn’t look up. His leg starts to bounce, sporadically at first, but then it reaches a rapid, steady pace as he gives up his attempts to control it. Gerri, eyes never leaving the screen in front of her, reaches out a hand and places it gently on his knee. 

Roman’s eyes go wide as he watches his leg still. Her hand remains for a few more seconds before she retracts it to continue typing. His leg stays in place. She never even spares him a glance. It's like a magic trick. He stares.

Gerri has been around his whole life, but he never gave her too much thought. She was there at meetings, parties, never far from his father. To him, she was just another moon orbiting Planet Logan, never intersecting much with his own rotation until recently. Now, she’s directly in his sights, and he needs to know more. Either she hasn’t noticed him watching her or she’s ignoring him. He wants her to notice him. He starts to squirm again.

Sighing, Gerri closes her laptop and faces him. “If you’re having so much trouble sitting still, why don’t you make yourself useful and fix me a drink.”

Victory. Roman grins and jumps to his feet, bounding over to the bar. “What’ll it be, madame?” He bends his knees in an awkward curtsy. “Sex on the beach? Slippery nipple? A cocksucking cowboy perhaps?” he leers.

She answers before he can come up with more sexually dubbed beverages. “Whiskey will be fine, I think.” He’s pretty sure she’s smirking. He’s very pleased with himself. Opening the bottle, Roman feels a slight pang of disappointment. While he doesn’t know how to make any of the drinks he’d named, he was sort of looking forward to putting a little effort into it. Mixing up a special drink just for her. He pours one for himself as well and returns to sit next to her again, handing her the other glass. His fingers immediately start drumming against his thigh.

“Roman, it’s going to be okay.” Has Gerri’s voice always sounded so soothing? “You’ll have the talking points, and you’ll have your baffling charm, and you’ll have me.”

That last bit makes something clench inside him. Roman turns his focus elsewhere. “You think I’m charming?” he taunts.

“Bafflingly.”

His fingers have stopped their incessant tapping. Abracadabra. Gerri did it again. Didn’t even have to touch him this time. She’s somehow controlling his body in a way that he can’t. She’s the master of his flesh. It’s hers to command…or devour. His mind flashes to Armin and Bernd. Roman shifts a bit to hide his semi.

***

They end up spending most of their time together in Japan. He learns she likes martinis. He pays attention to the brand of gin she orders, notices the single olive at the bottom of the glass, marks the way she always spears it and pops it into her mouth after the first few sips. Roman likes to watch her chew it slowly, savoring it, handling it with care even as she crushes it between her teeth.

He makes sure the bar on the jet is suitably stocked. Once they’re in the air on their way back home, he goes over and starts making it just the way he’d seen the bartenders do it at the hotel. Gerri’s focus is on her computer again, probably emailing about the possibility of Logan selling the company. She’s surprised when he sets the drink down in front of her.

“Thank you, Rome. That’s very thoughtful.” She takes a sip and smiles warmly.

Roman is caught off guard by the familiarity of the nickname and the sincerity of her expression. To his horror, he realizes he’s blushing. He tries to regain control of the situation. “Yeah, it’s been, what, 12 hours? Wouldn’t want you to go into withdrawal.” That’s better.

“Yes, well, I’ve been trying to maintain a steady blood alcohol level for sanity since I was saddled with the world’s fussiest 34-year-old infant,” she jabs back.

Roman grins, relieved to have fallen into this new pattern they’d found together. He decides to push. It’s what he does. “If I’m so fussy, maybe you should try putting me back on the tit.” He glances pointedly at her chest.

Gerri looks unimpressed, but he sees the corner of her mouth quirk up just a tiny bit. “You’re disgusting, Roman. Go play with yourself and leave the grown-ups to deal with the actual business.”

He feels his dick give an appreciative twitch and hopes it isn’t noticeable through his pants. “Do you really think he might sell?” He feels vulnerable at the thought. Unmoored. What would that even make him?

“I don’t know.” Her face softens as she looks at him.

Now _that’s_ got his dick going too, and he really doesn’t know what to do with that, so he grunts and flees to the other side of the plane where he lets himself into the bathroom. Maybe playing with himself isn’t the worst idea after all.

Once he gets his zipper down and his hand on his cock, Roman gets some of his footing back. Bracing himself against the wall, he starts stroking, attempting to control his thoughts. Anything but Gerri. That is dangerous territory. He tries emptying his mind, focusing on the sensations, but he keeps drifting back to a hand on his knee, a biting insult, a stray lock of blonde hair. Fuck.

Breathing erratically, he pumps harder and tries to think of specific things: that chick in college who was really into slapping, the rimjob he got from a bartender in Berlin, wielding power over all the peasants of the world. It seemed to be working. Quickening his pace, he tries to bring it in for a landing. Bodies grinding…flesh sliding…flesh…teeth tearing…fuck… flesh…chewing…olive…Gerri…eating…biting…Gerri…Gerri…. “NGH!” 

***

At the retreat, she comes to his room the morning after the disastrous night of Boar on the Floor. When she fixes his buttons, Roman feels like he did when Gerri told him no one had died at the rocket launch, protected. It puts him at ease, so he tests the waters and openly flirts. Her answering smile nourishes him.

“What do I have to do to get him to take me seriously?” Roman asks. _What do I have to do to get you to take me seriously?_ The management training program is not the answer he wanted, but if she’s telling him that’s what he needs to do, he’ll do it. He trusts her. He needs her. He might throw up.

***

Phone sex with his girlfriend like a normo does not go well. Roman hangs up on Tabitha and is left feeling itchy and wrong. It’s instinct when he hits send on Gerri’s number. She can stop him crawling in his skin, bring him back to earth. Her voice floats through the speaker in his ear, and it immediately relaxes him, like sinking down into a hot bath.

“You are a piece of shit,” she retorts at his whining again about the video. He doesn’t actually care about the training video, just wants to keep her talking, sating him. They rally a few more biting comments, and he’s already getting hard when she issues the challenge. “…and masturbate all your ideas out, and let’s see how excited you feel tomorrow.” It spurs him to action. 

The banter escalates into a series of dares. He’s not sure he even makes a decision, just feels his body moving, compelled by her voice. She’s thrown down the gauntlet, and now he’s got it in hand in the form of his prick. She knows for sure what he’s doing now, and he almost expects her to hang up, but instead, because it’s what she does, because she’s Gerri, she gives him the thing he needs the most. 

“You disgusting little pig.” Fuck. That’s it. She doesn’t stop there. Gerri knows all the right things to say, her words slicing through him, butchering him, roasting him. He is a disgusting little pig, but with her, he can become a sumptuous feast, celebrated, worthy. Roman comes harder than he has in a long time. She leaves him with a fond, “Goodnight, Rome,” before ending the call.

***

They keep in touch while Roman’s at management training. He texts her several times a day, sometimes calls. Twice more he calls late when he knows she’ll be drinking her martini, relaxed. Gerri answers both calls, and he goads her, and she lets him, and her retorts become more withering until he’s panting and writhing in the warmth of her disdain.

***

When Roman seeks her out at Tern Haven, he tells himself it’s just to get off, needing some release after that disaster with Tabitha. That’s not the only reason, though. It stings that Gerri didn’t warn him about Shiv. He wants to be someone she trusts above others, to solidify whatever it is between them, talk about it. Uncertain how to do that, though, he defaults to fucking his fist in her bathroom.

***

Gerri finds him at Argestes, offering him a chance to prove himself to Logan. _To her._ Later, Roman rambles out his ideas about teaming up officially. It would be beneficial for both of them, and even though she dismisses him from her room, it doesn’t feel like a no. He’s chipping away at the amorphous mass of what’s between them to sculpt it into a solid shape, something tangible to hold onto, a relationship unique to them.

Then it all goes to shit with the panel and Shiv, and he’s about to get emergency dental work done at midnight because he can’t keep his mouth shut. Fucking perfect. He was getting through to Gerri, and now she’s been reminded that he’s just a dumb, weak kid. Some abused, frightened child. His phone buzzes, and he doesn’t need to hear more about how fucked they are now, but he checks it anyway.

GERRI: _I’m still considering your proposal. Let’s talk later, Rockstar._

His chest tightens. All is not lost. Huh. Proposal.

***

Roman calls her late from England to continue their conversation about the oppo research. He’s not sure which he wants more: for this to be a sign that she’s finally taking him seriously or for this to be a thinly veiled excuse to find more ways to humiliate him into orgasm. Both would be good.

“The good news is that there’s nothing here that we can’t manage if we play it smart,” she says. He lightly palms himself through his pants, the sound of Gerri’s voice enough to have him half hard. It seems she really is thinking about their plans, which is amazing. “The things which have come up are mostly just the pathetic, attention-seeking stunts I’d expect from a spoiled brat.” YES. Both. Roman’s belt and pants are open at record speed. He’s been getting good at doing that while holding a phone.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. I might need some more detail on this face tattoo issue, but handjobs from your personal trainer seem very on-brand. Looks like you had to pay him a fair amount to touch that filthy little dick of yours.” He wishes he had more self-control in this moment, but his hand is already speeding up. “You’re just a rotten, revolting weasel, and your daddy’s money is the only reason anyone would go near you, Roman,” she skewers him.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he moans, imagining her words sliding across his skin, caressing him, slicing him. His pace becomes more frantic.

“Probably leaking all over yourself already,” Gerri hisses. He is. “Odious, pitiful, little creep.”

“What else?” Roman whimpers, so close.

“You’re a wretched, slimy piece of pond scum, and it’s completely sickening.” And that’s all it takes. He’s bucking up off the bed, coating his hand and stomach.

“Fuck, Gerri,” he pants in the aftershocks.

The phone is still at his ear as his breath starts to return to normal. She’s still on the line. “We can do this, Roman. If you can stay focused, we can make this work.” Her voice is soothing again now. He’s certain she means the company, but maybe she means this as well. Them. Maybe it could be both.

“I can stay focused if you’re with me,” he says, immediately tensing at his openness.

“OK, then,” she responds. “Goodnight, Rome.”

***

He agrees to slip a hand under Eduard’s skirt to give him a little fondle, and he relishes the chance to do Gerri’s bidding. She’s confiding in him and believing in him. It feels natural and weirdly normal and it all goes to his head a bit, so without much forethought, “Should we…get married?”

“What?” 

Her incredulity has him faltering, and he backpedals, tries to cover his ass with some shit about kidnapping her, and she’s still looking at him like he’s lost his mind. He panics, and his mouth keeps running without him. “…you kill me…you chop my dick off….” Fuck. This probably wasn’t the best way to do this, but he’s still talking for some reason, and she seems more confused than anything. “You eat me, I eat you, like they do in Germany.” He mumbles a few more thoughts and bolts from the room.

***

The thing about being held hostage is that no one tells you how boring it is. Having a gun pointed at him doesn’t make Roman’s life flash before his eyes, but the tedious hours of sitting that follow leave plenty of time to slowly contemplate each detail. It’s an amazing life. It’s parties and pussy and power, but it’s fucking bleak as well. It’s cowering and dog cages and crushing doubt, and what makes it worse is that those parts, dark as they are, are the only things that made him feel anything for so long.

It’s changing lately. Roman’s spent all his life fantasizing about power as an abstract concept, an aura surrounding Logan but never breaching his space. With Gerri, though, it looks solid, and he can picture the path there as she clears the way. They can do this together. He’s desperate to ensure that they stay a team. Merged. One. He chews his lip.

***

Roman’s eyes find Gerri immediately upon reaching the yacht. He welcomes her familiar dig, “…if you weren’t already so fucked up.” But then it’s coming from Kendall, and Tom’s voice cuts in and it’s dopey and grating. He shuts it down irritably and feels guilty that she looks chastised as well. Worse, he’s not so sure what he’s brought her is a win. Despite Laird’s beaming, the whole deal makes him uneasy.

Logan arrives and orders him into a meeting before Roman can get Gerri alone to ask her advice. As Laird sings his praises, he asks himself, ‘What would Gerri do?’ Recent evidence, despite all reason, would suggest that Gerri would trust him. So he goes with his gut and lays out his reservations, torpedoing any celebration of going private, of saving them all.

There are still too many people around when he sees her again to get into it all, so when she meets his eyes, he just shakes his head. She nods her understanding and frowns, redirecting her attention to her book. After Logan comes back and makes his non-announcement, Roman finally gives into the urge to be close and slumps down beside her. He torments Frank and Karl, and when it makes her laugh, he feels useful again.

That night, after people filter back to their rooms to shit themselves over their futures, Roman knocks on her door like he has so many times now. This time she doesn’t pretend to be exasperated, just lets him in with a hint of a smile on her face. “I’m sorry about the money,” he says, sitting on her bed when the door is closed. “I tried, but it was wrong.”

“You did well, Rome.” She’s standing over him, her pajamas are linen and flowy like the other clothes she’s worn today. He reaches out and touches the fabric at the hem of her top. It’s not a liberty he would normally take, but he feels her hand on the back of his head, coaxing his eyes up to hers. “You thought it through, you weighed your options, and you made the call for the good of the company. I’m proud of you.”

Encouraged, Roman brings his other hand to hers, lets his fingertips dance along her palm. She curls her fingers to his, a whisper of a touch. “Have y—” Roman’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat. Fuck’s sake, he needs to get it together. “Have you thought about what I asked you?” Gerri holds his gaze. “In Dundee?”

“You mean when you asked if we should cannibalize each other?” She sounds amused.

He drops his hands in frustration, and stares at the floor. The bed moves, and he feels her sitting next to him, looking at him. “That’s not what I—” he tries. “I mean, that was just…there was this guy, a cannibal, he put out an ad.” His knee is bouncing, and he’s not making sense.

Gerri’s hand stills him, in its infinite magic. Alakazam, no more bouncing. “I vaguely remember the case,” she replies, leaning down to catch his eye. Once she does, he pops up from the bed, needing to find some kind of high ground in this.

“I read about those guys, you know? The one who was eaten, he _wanted_ to be killed and eaten. Was obsessed with the idea for years, and he’d wanted it for so long. It was like his ultimate desire.” Roman is pacing now, and Gerri watches in bemusement. “Same with the cannibal. He was, like, fixated on this one thing his whole life. And it was sort of beautiful that they found each other. It was fucked up, and nobody else understood it, but they each had the one thing that the other needed. I just…sometimes, I think maybe we could be kind of like that.” 

There’s silence for a moment while they look at each other. Then, Gerri laughs. It’s just a chuckle, but it continues, and Roman doesn’t know what to do with that. His face feels hot, and his dick gives a hopeful twinge because of course it does. She’s beautiful, and she’s looking at him so fondly, he can’t help but grin back as her laughter dies down. Still smiling, Gerri reaches out, and he lets her take his hand and gently pull him back to the bed next to her. 

“That’s honestly one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever said to me.” She reaches up to cup his cheek and guides him to her. It’s brief, his lips softly pressing against hers, lingering for only a moment, chaste. Yet somehow, he’s never felt more consumed by anything. “We should get some sleep,” she breathes, stroking his face with her thumb.

At a loss, Roman nods. She still hasn’t answered him. He stands up, feeling unsteady in a way that has nothing to do with the ocean underneath them. Halfway through the door, he turns back around. “Whatever happens,” he says, “I won’t let them feed you to the wolves tomorrow.” Without waiting for a response, he shuts the door behind him and returns to his room.

Roman keeps his promise at breakfast. There’s no way to be certain, but it seems like his flippant yet reasonable argument in her defense might keep the heat off her. He’s back in his room, considering what his options are if it doesn’t work when he’s interrupted by a knock. It’s her. Thank god. He wouldn’t have let anyone else in anyway.

When she’s inside, he moves instinctively, pulling Gerri to him and wrapping his arms around her as though she could be taken from him at any minute. She stiffens at first, startled, but then she relaxes and brings her arms up to lay her hands on his back. “Thank you, Rome,” she murmurs. Her hair smells like honey.

Letting go of her, he steps back to clear his head. “I want to say something,” he says, trying to sound firm. “About what I said last night. With the…with the cannibal thing.”

“OK.” She sits on the corner of the bed and looks at him expectantly.

“You see something. In this,” he gestures wildly at his own head, “hellscape of bullshit, you manage to find shit that’s worthwhile. You see what I need to be, like, a fucking person who can do shit.” Shrugging, he falls into his usual smirk. “Plus, you’re the only one who can get me off.” Gerri’s mouth quirks and he feels emboldened.

“And I see you. I know you’d do a better job than Shiv or Rhea or Kendall or any other of those shitfucks. Definitely better than me.” He’s pacing again. “You don’t have to worry about convincing me to do what you say. I’m not worried about my fragile fucking masculinity. I _want_ you to keep my balls in your fucking Birkin bag. And if you’re my wife, then I can protect you. Really. You won’t be on the outside anymore. Even if we don’t tell people right away, it could still help you. _I_ can help you.”

“Roman—” Gerri starts, and he panics, feeling he’s still not doing this right, so he falls to his knees in front of her, desperately. She touches under his chin to get him to meet her eyes. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

She smiles. “Yes. There are several conditions—”

“Yeah, conditions!” He’s beaming. “Whatever you want! You can put me naked in a dog collar and feed me from your hand!”

Gerri rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as well. “I meant about what we can tell people and when. We need to do this strategically.”

“Sure, anything you say!” He stands awkwardly so he’s leaning over her and dips down to capture her lips for the second time ever. This kiss is longer, not so chaste. There’s a quick brush of tongues, and it’s a bit too wet, and their teeth clack slightly, but it’s full of potential.

Being here with her makes him feel more whole, like Gerri’s just laid down a crucial puzzle piece inside him. Maybe this was all he’d ever really wanted. Maybe cannibalism was just a red herring. Either way, he trusts Gerri not to burn his dick.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a horror-type, and I find cannibal stuff interesting. Roman awkwardly proposing to Gerri via Armin Meiwes reference was one of the most relatable things I've ever seen, so I wanted to have some fun exploring it a bit. Hopefully, it's not too rambly and boring.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!


End file.
